When the dead become insane
The tramps the down, the ill arranged
The junkies burning over flames
The fools who couldn’t be renamed
Where do they go to shoot the light
Eat the bread
Kill the night
The times are changing
Tells you on every wall
Don’t expect to be caught
When you jump, get pushed, or fall
The ticket’s gone, my friend
Like the train that didn’t depart
Start queuing up for the next life
Can the hospital have your heart
You’ll have to be quick, my friend
The man on the bridge has got a head start..
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Author:
Paul Bell (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: May 28th, 2026 07:57
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 11
- Users favorite of this poem: Teddy.15, Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments3
Life is a race without rules and winner takes all. Well written
We're all jumping overboard.
Hope we can swim
Wow Paul this is a superb poem, I got an adrenaline rush and your last lines, brilliantly done my friend. 🌹
Cheery little poem.
Paul, I love how this feels both apocalyptic and deeply personal. The poem moves through addicts, outcasts, hospitals, bridges, and death with the logic of a dream…or perhaps a nightmare. It lingers long after the last line. Well written, my friend. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Its good to know we're all going over the ledge.
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